


Guardian

by chocoholic2



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, First Kiss, Guardian Angels, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Hospitalization, M/M, Magical Realism, Romance, Swawesome Santa 2016, Temporary Character Death, Wingfic, angel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocoholic2/pseuds/chocoholic2
Summary: After his overdose, Jack becomes a Guardian  – an angel sworn to protect his Ward.For some reason, that mostly involves turning off the oven.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immarcesibility](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immarcesibility/gifts).



> This is my Swawesome Santa gift for inmarcesibility. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful betas: [BakedHam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedHam/pseuds/BakedHam) and [BaegentWashington](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RyanTheFreewoodGuy/pseuds/BaegentWashington)
> 
> Just a note, the "character death" is temporary and there's a happy resolution. But if you're worried about the warnings, feel free to ask!

The first thing Jack hears when he regains consciousness – well, physically regains consciousness, anyway – is the doctor speaking with his parents. “...it's really a miracle that he's alive.”

A miracle. They don't know the half of it.

Jack blinks his eyes open, and the doctor stops mid-sentence. His mother gasps and grasps his hand.

“Oh, Jack,” she murmurs. There's relief and heartbreak in her voice. His father is standing next to her, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. His eyes have a haunted look to them, with deep circles that suggest he hasn't slept in a long time.

“What happened?” he asks. His voice is scratchy.

The doctor looks at him with pity. “Jack, you overdosed on your anxiety medication. You’ve been unconscious for about 36 hours,” she says.

That’s… unexpected. It only felt like a few minutes from his perspective. Jack guesses that it must take longer for his body to recover than his… soul? His spirit? He's not really sure what to call it. Up until, well, 36 hours or so ago, he wasn't even sure the soul, spirit, or higher power even existed. Now though… He can't really deny it.

He zones out a bit as the doctor continues to talk; his parents can always fill him in on the details, he figures.

A miracle. That’s one way to put it.

***

When Jack regained consciousness the _first_ time – or at least, what he perceived to be the first time – he had been standing in a bright, white expanse. The nothingness went on as far as he could see, and for some reason, he was wearing all white pants and a white t-shirt, even though he knew he had been wearing his team sweats when he… when he overdosed.

Without warning, in less than the time it took to blink, three figures appeared in front of him. They were all dressed from head to toe in white as well. Jack also couldn’t help but notice that each of them had a set of large, silvery wings.

“Where am I?” Jack asked. The figures seemed to move closer to him, even though they were all standing still. It was like the air between them was shrinking.

“You’re beyond the world,” said the tall, male figure on the left.

“You are at a crossroads,” said the figure on the right, a woman with hair that seemed to ripple in an invisible, intangible breeze.

“You are dead,” said the final figure in the middle in the bright, ringing voice of a child, but with something in her tone that betrayed that she was much, much older than she appeared.

“What?” Jack stumbled back. He felt at his arms, his chest, looking for something wrong. He felt fine. How could he be dead?

“It was the pills,” the childlike figure said, in a somber tone.

“Oh.” They had warned Jack about the pills. His doctor, his parents, his therapist had all told him to be careful with the dosage and taking them with alcohol. But Jack doesn’t think he – or any of them really – took the warnings seriously. He hadn’t meant to take so many. He’d just wanted his mind to be silent for once.

Jack had broken down then. He was so young, but worse than that, he couldn’t stand to leave his mother with that much grief or leave his father with that much pain. His tears rolled silently down his face as the three strangers watched in stoic calm.

“You are dead,” the male figure said, “but you have a choice.”

Jack looked up at him abruptly, tears still running down his face. “What kind of choice?”

“We give all the young ones who pass a choice,” the woman said. “You may continue onward,” she gestured behind her with a sweeping hand motion, “or you may return to Earth as a Guardian.”

“A Guardian?” he asked.

“Yes. As a Guardian, you would return to Earth, but would be called upon to care for your Ward when he or she is in great danger. Your life will be tied to theirs. When they die, you will leave your form as well.”

“So basically my life would depend on how good a Guardian I would be?”

“Your life is no longer your own, Jack Laurent Zimmermann. But it's up to you if you would prefer to move onward now or later.”

“But I could play hockey?” The three figures gave him a quizzical look. “If I'm a Guardian, could I still play hockey?”

“You will be able to do anything you would be able to do in a human form. But you will be beholden to your Ward.”

“So is that a yes?” he asked, holding his breath and trying not to hope.

After a long pause, the man replied slowly. “I don't see why not.”

“Then yes! I'll do it,” Jack blurted.

The woman eyed him cautiously. “It's a significant responsibility Jack Laurent Zimmermann. Are you sure—”

“Yes. Whatever it takes,” he interrupted.

The three figures glanced at each other, conducting a wordless conversation that seemed to last an eternity.

“Very well.”

The smallest figure – an angel, Jack finally admitted to himself – stepped forward until she was a mere inches away from Jack. He looked down, and she reached up to place her hand on his forehead. Jack felt sleepy all of a sudden, his eyelids drooping even as he tried to get a better look at the angel. Before he could commit her face to memory, he was asleep.

***

He would have written the whole thing off as a dream, a result of the drugs, the booze, the bone-deep exhaustion, and the swampy, stinging anxiety, but he can't. Even if no one else can see them, Jack can definitely feel the huge feathered wings folded behind his back.

***

Life continues. It's not normal, not by a long shot. For one, there's the whole angel thing. Somehow, his huge wings seem to be invisible to everyone else, They don’t even seem to be affected by his clothes; his shirts and jackets slip on like normal, as if they weren’t even there.

When they finally release him from the hospital, one of the first things he does is try them out. Alone in his room, he stretches out his new feathered appendages. They tingle a bit, like a foot that’s fallen asleep. He focuses hard and _flaps_ , just gently.

The few times in his life he’d ever given thought to angels, he always had thought of them as light, airy, weightless beings who glide around the clouds. It's not like that though. His wings are strong and solid, not unlike his other muscles. They lift his weight easily though, and he flies – he's actually _flying_ – about three feet up, just shy of hitting his head on the ceiling.

But his newfound flight skills aren't the only things that have changed in his life. For one, he's not playing hockey for the first time since he was four years old.

It’s pretty miserable most of the time. He goes to therapy at least five days a week: group on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and one-on-one sessions Tuesday and Thursday. His parents look at him like he's broken. He doesn't really have friends. His therapist is nice but patronizing, and Jack doesn't really know if that's just him or if all therapists are like that. He runs a lot, but has given up his weight training regimen entirely, so he's losing weight. He's already gone through all of his _Band of Brothers_ DVDs.

Everyone in his life agrees that he should take a break from hockey, but Jack is going crazy without anything to do. Sure, the first time he went to put on his skates after his overdose, he had a full-fledged panic attack, but he's sure it won't happen again…

Still, it feels like his whole purpose is gone. He almost wishes he hadn't decided to come back at all…

***

Jack’s not exactly sure what's going on when he gets his first “call”. One minute he's asleep in his room, the next, he's wide awake in the middle of an unfamiliar kitchen. Bright moonlight shines through the window above the sink, bookended by lacy curtains. There are smudges of flour and splotchy spots of jam on the yellow tile countertops.

As he takes a few steps around the strange kitchen, he starts to wonder if he's dreaming or something when the thought comes to him. It's aided by the warm sensation in his wings. He turns his neck best he can to get a glimpse of them and notices that they're glowing slightly. The radiant, ethereal light coming from Jack closely matches the light from the full moon outside.

He's here as a Guardian. He might finally get to meet his Ward.

His heart starts to race. Jack takes stock of the room again with a newly focused eye. His Ward must be in some sort of danger for Jack to be here.

That’s when he catches the slight scent of gas, hears a gurgling noise. Jack glances around quickly and sees the bright orange light coming from the oven. The digital clock display reads 4:18 a.m. How long has the oven been on?

Jack steps over and turns the knob to shut off the oven.

Immediately, he is back in his room, heart thumping rapidly from the adrenaline he no longer needs.

***

He ends up in the dark kitchen at least once a week, always for some sort of potential cooking emergency. Most of the time it's the oven. Once it's a precariously balanced knife on the counter. Once it was a leaking flower vase on the plug of a hand-mixer. But nine times out of ten, it's the oven.

Jack gets increasingly annoyed by the whole thing. How is his Ward supposed to learn if Jack keeps fixing his problems without them knowing? But he's conflicted too. If his Ward learns, then Jack will have fewer reasons to come here, and without these trips… His own life is a monotonous, hopeless cycle of therapy sessions and pity.

At least taking care of his Ward gives him a purpose. Without a purpose, well… He doesn't want to think about it, so he keeps turning off the oven, grumbling as he does it.

***

One night, he’s transported not to the kitchen, but to an industrial-looking ice rink. The only light comes from the bright green exit signs in the corners and Jack himself. It doesn’t look like any of the hundreds of rinks that he’s been to in his life, but even still it’s familiar. All ice rinks have a similar feeling for Jack.

His anxiety spikes even as his heart soars at being back on the ice. But he’s not skating; he’s gliding centimeters above the rink, his wings flapping slowly behind him. For some reason, it’s easier to handle this way, and he’s able to fend off the panic.

Jack makes a loop of the ice, before flying up and over the boards. He notices a pair of skates on a bench. They’re small enough to be a child’s. He picks one up and runs a careful finger along the blade, surprised to find it completely dull. The young owner of these skates could hurt themselves if they keep skating on dull blades like this.

That’s when it hits him. These skates probably belong to Jack’s Ward. The young owner of these skates _is_ going to hurt themselves if they keep skating on these blades. Jack picks up the two small skates and flies down a back hallway until he discovers the skate sharpener. Meticulously, he sharpens the skates, making sure the edges are even. He checks and double checks them until he’s happy with his handiwork. He returns to the ice, and as soon as he places the skates back on the bench where he found them, he’s back in his own bedroom.

As he’s falling asleep again, he can’t help but think about the small skates and the kid they must belong to.

***

The next morning, he looks up the number of his old peewee league on his laptop while eating breakfast. It takes him all day to finally make the call, dialing the numbers during a break at group. By that evening, he has a position as a volunteer hockey coach. It’s not the same as being out there himself, but helping these kids with their hockey makes him feel that much closer to his Ward.

***

The months pass, and then a year, and Jack is surprised one day to realize that some point along the way, he started to feel better, at least a little. He catches himself looking up NCAA hockey programs and university application requirements. He starts working out again. His nocturnal sojourns to the strange kitchen are less frequent these days – his Ward must be catching on – but he still ends up at the ice rink at least once a month. One night, he’s surprised to find that the dull skates on the bench aren’t figure skates but hockey skates. It makes Jack giddy in a way he has trouble explaining.

His Ward plays hockey, too.

The day after, Jack joins his kids on the ice at practice for the first time since his panic attack. They’re practically crazed in their excitement to have “Coach Z.” on the ice with them, and Jack has a hard time keeping them under control.

He lets them go a little wild though. He's too distracted by the wonderful feeling of being back on the ice.

Once the kids get used to him sharing the ice with them, the practices go even better anyway. On top of that, Jack is beyond relieved that he hasn’t lost his ability to skate. He’s a little rusty, sure – his muscles are sore from even the easiest maneuvers – but at least his new gigantic wings haven’t thrown off his center of gravity. Honestly, he doesn’t understand how the things work, how they’re both present and absent at once, but he writes it off to angel magic and gets back to racing his team down the ice and showing how to _properly_ do the drills.

***

His mom takes him on a tour of Samwell, and Jack knows almost immediately that this is where he wants to go to school. The hockey team is nothing special, but it’s Division I, and the coaches seem to know what they’re doing. And the campus is gorgeous. He can perfectly picture running along the river, attending class in the stately buildings. He steps inside Faber Memorial Rink, and the _rightness_ of it all falls into place.

He talks it over with him mom on the drive home. If he gets his act together – he needs letters of rec, he has to take the SAT _oh god_ – he can start as early as fall of 2011.

He wonders if there’s special scholarships for supernatural beings.

***

Jack spends the night before the admissions decisions are released painting over a homophobic threat painted on his Ward’s house. It’s the first time his Guardian duties have required him to protect his Ward from something other than a potential physical threat. But Jack knows better than most that sometimes the worst pain isn't physical.

***

The next morning, he refreshes his email every ten minutes until he sees the message from Samwell in his inbox.

_Dear Jack,_

_It is with great pleasure that we would like to extend you an offer of admission to Samwell University..._

***

University is not what Jack expected. The movies don't show how lonely it can get, even when surrounded by thousands of other people. He has his team, but they haven't really clicked. He doesn't even have a regular line to play with. The coaches keep switching him around, probably because no one can keep up with him. Or at least, that's what Jack tells himself. He can't let himself think that maybe it's because he doesn't really have a place on this team. The only friend he's made is Knight – who insists people call him _Shitty_ of all things. Jack’s not even really sure if he can count Shitty as a friend either. It's more like Shitty has decided that Jack's quiet, grumpy demeanor is the perfect backdrop for his constant tirades about social justice and the lacrosse team.

Jack just wonders if maybe he had been wrong about the _rightness_ of Samwell. It feels like something huge is missing, but he has no idea what.

***

Things improve a little sophomore year. He's voted captain by a slim margin. It’s a good thing though. He doesn’t have to worry about fitting in so much. A leader is supposed to stand apart, that's the point.

He and Shitty move into the hockey Haus with a handful of upperclassmen. It's more or less fine, despite the smell. But every so often, Jack catches Johnson staring at his back – _at his wings_ , Jack thinks impossibly.

“Don't worry, Zimmermann. You’ll figure it out eventually,” Johnson says, patting him on the shoulder instead of his back.

Johnson’s a weird dude.

***

Junior year gets off to a rough start. Ransom and Holster move into the Haus, and they are just _so loud_ all the time.

He also stops visiting his Ward. Jack didn't realize how much he looked forward to the occasional visits to the kitchen, or the ice rink, or the high school gym with the bright blue “Home of the Mustangs” banners. Even though he still hasn't met his Ward, they're the most important person in his life, and it feels like a puck to the gut to think that maybe they don't need Jack anymore.

A jagged feeling between sadness and anger lingers in his stomach for weeks, so he throws himself into training and into captaining. The new frogs need a ton of work, especially Bittle, who Jack doesn't think should have made the team in the first place.

The first time Bittle faints on the ice, Jack is so annoyed, he doesn't register the slight tingling in his wings. He waits until Bittle’s eyes blink open, and then he roughly pulls the kid up to his feet.

“Eyes up, Bittle. It's just a check,” he grunts. “Go see the trainer and check your head.”

“Sorry,” Bittle mutters, skating gingerly over to the bench.

***

After a few more fainting spells, Jack can't take it anymore. This frog needs serious help, or he's going to bring the whole team down, especially since Coach Hall and Coach Murray seem intent on keeping him on the team. So Jack looks up Bittle’s dorm room number and pulls him out of bed and off to Faber.

“It’s four in the morning,” Bittle grumbles, directing what he must think is a murderous glare in Jack’s direction. It would be a lot more effective if Bittle weren’t so... well, Jack’s not going to call him adorable, but… It’s hard to take him seriously with his sleep-ruffled cowlick sticking up on the back of his head.

“It’s 4:37,” Jack responds, readjusting the strap of his gear bag on his shoulder.

“Same difference,” Bittle huffs.

“You’ve got a checking problem, Bittle. This is the only time the ice is available. Do you _want_ to keep fainting?”

Bittle doesn’t respond to him, but crosses his arms and walks faster so he doesn’t have to look at Jack. His cowlick stands up perfectly straight, and Jack can’t look away.

When they get to the rink, he watches as Bittle sleepily puts on his pads. They lace up their skates and hit the ice. Jack runs Bittle through the same physicality drills he used with his peewee team, but they seem to be harder for him than they were for any of his twelve year olds. Right off the bat, Bittle’s crumpled on the ice crying. For some reason, watching him makes Jack’s wings itch.

He helps Bittle to his feet and tries his best to give him a pep talk. The kid really is a good skater, but for whatever reason, Jack can’t stand to watch him flinch and fall whenever anyone else skates by him. He’s going to do whatever he can to help Bittle. For the team, obviously. Because it’s not like he really likes Bittle or anything. He wouldn’t know a nutrition plan if it danced in front of him to one of those horribly obnoxious pop songs he’s always playing in the Haus kitchen. And he’s so small, Jack could probably bench press him, if he wanted to. He kind of wants to…

Jack snaps himself out of it. “Let’s go again, Bittle.”

***

Even though he still gets under Jack’s skin, Bittle continues to improve, and Jack continues to help him. He almost loses it when Hall and Murray put Bittle on his line for good, but it turns out they do well together. The team does well too, and before they know it, it’s time for playoffs.

Jack doesn’t think it’s fair that angels still get anxiety, but here he is, fending off a panic attack before another elimination game.

He manages to get it together before puck drop. It’s a grueling, physical game, and every sense Jack has is heightened. For the first time, he even considers using his wings to get a competitive edge. He quickly brushes off the idea – and not just because Johnson is staring at his shoulders again – but it just goes to show how badly Jack wants to win. He hasn’t felt this way since the Memorial Cup game.

For the last play of the game, he works out a maneuver with Bittle. He’s _sure_ it will work. He can feel it. Bittle’s speed will get him past the D-man, and all Jack needs is an opening.

He’s so focused on the play that he fails to notice the sharp, stinging sensation in his wings until after he’s already launched the puck into the goal.

By then it’s too late. Time halts as Jack looks up and sees Bittle airborne.

“Bitty.”

It all hits Jack at once. His Ward is Bittle. His one reason for being back on Earth is protecting Bittle, and he’s about to fail at that too. Jack calculates the angle of Bittle’s body, his limbs, the speed at which he’s going to hit the ice.

He’s going to snap his neck.

It’s already too late for Jack to step in and stop the check. Everyone has already seen it happen. He can’t be seen, or he’ll immediately be removed back to “beyond,” and end up leaving Bittle defenseless anyway. All Jack can do is somehow try to adjust the trajectory slightly and hope the damage is minimized.

The guilt feels like a boulder on his chest, but he fights the pressure and extends his wings. He only has a moment to fix this while time stands still and no one can see. He flies over to Bittle and carefully places his hands on his shoulders. Gently, he tilts his shoulders so that they will take the brunt of the fall, praying that it will be enough. Jack allows his hands to linger briefly before flying back to his previous spot on the ice.

He focuses hard on the threads of time until they pick back up again, all at once like unpausing a movie.

Even though he knows it’s coming, he gasps when Bittle hits the ice. Just like Jack had hoped, his shoulder take the impact, but the momentum knocks off his helmet and Bittle’s head hits the ice anyway. Jack freezes. He prays. He doesn’t even register the fact that they won the game. His Ward is hurt, and he couldn’t prevent it.

The trainer diagnoses Bittle with a mild concussion. He’s out for the season – and the summer – but he’s expected to make a full recovery. Jack should feel relieved, but mostly he feels guilty.

***

The guilt paired with the bitter sting of getting knocked out a round later is almost more than Jack can take, which is why he’s so stunned when he’s unanimously voted captain again for his senior year. He hasn’t proved himself at all, and yet everyone on his team – even Bittle, who he let down most of all – trusts him as their leader. A feeling he can’t really name reverberates in his chest like the clear ring of a bell.

He thanks the team at the banquet, and then finally, on the last day before he’s supposed to leave for rookie camp, he thanks Bittle himself. Jack had been waffling whether to even mention the vote to Bittle, fearing that bringing it up would somehow remind him that he can’t actually trust Jack after all. But finally his gratitude wins out over his fear of rejection, and he goes to find Bittle while he’s moving his things into Johnson’s room.

The Haus is warm, and Bittle’s arms look golden in his tank top. Jack thinks that if anyone had to guess, between the two of them, they would assume Bittle was the angel. He looks the part, all warm and golden and kind-hearted.

Jack looks over his shoulder and chirps Bittle one last time before leaving. The casual way he leans against the door makes Jack feel so light, he thinks he could fly even without his wings.

***

Despite Bittle’s concussion – or maybe because of it – Jack doesn’t get called to help his Ward very much that summer. It’s probably because Bittle has to stay inside and relax instead of skating or baking like crazy. It’s kind of disappointing, but he’s ultimately glad that Bittle is okay.

When they all return to Samwell for training, everyone surprises Jack with a belated birthday party, including a special pie from Bittle.

Birthdays are weird for Jack. Every one reminds him that he’s basically cheating at life, taking one more year he wasn’t supposed to have. He promises this year that he’s going to make the most of it, as he savors the sweetness of maple-crusted apple pie.

***

It’s weird living in the same place as his Ward, because sometimes Jack will randomly wake up downstairs and not know immediately what happened. When it was Bittle’s kitchen in Georgia, he would usually realize right way because it’s a completely different environment. Here though, for all Jack knows, he might have just groggily walked downstairs to get himself a glass of water instead of being supernaturally displaced to protect his Ward.

Bittle bakes almost constantly. He bakes 17 pies in September. That’s more than one every two days. That’s a slice per Hausmate per day, not that Jack eats his fair share. Ransom easily can finish off a pie by himself, and Jack really does try to stick to a nutritional plan. But it seems excessive.

It becomes a regular occurrence for Jack to sit at the kitchen table working on a paper while Bittle moves around him to chop, mix, and roll out dough. He sings quietly – and very off-key – as he does, but Jack doesn’t register it as a song at first when Bittle says something that almost makes him jump out of his skin.

“I can see your halo, halo, halo. I can see your—”

“What?” Jack nearly falls off his chair. “What did you say?”

“It’s Beyoncé,” Bittle replies, offended.

“Oh, so it’s a song?” Jack can feel sweat on his forehead. He knows he’s being ridiculous, but if Bittle can actually see a halo…

“It’s like you aren’t even from this century, Jack Zimmermann,” Bittle says, returning to his pie.

Jack doesn’t know the words, but he has the tune and the words, “Halo, halo, halo,” stuck in his head for months.

***

The oven starts acting up that spring. The wiring is so bad that Jack regularly wakes up downstairs to put out small fires. Bittle doesn't catch on right away, but he still figures it out fairly quickly. He fuses over the failing oven like it were a sick child.

Jack does his best to keep the thing from blowing up the Haus, but he's an angel, not a mechanic. Eventually the thing just dies. Bittle is distraught for weeks.

When Jack finally brings it up with the rest of the Haus, he’s surprised at how easily they all get on board with helping him replace the oven.

Jack feels a warm rush of pride when he thinks about how Bitty’s going to react. He always does so much for their teammates, so it will be nice to return the favor for once.

***

Jack wakes up on the morning of Spring C with a low-level thrum in his wings. By now, he has a better understanding of his Guardian warning signals. This feeling means that Bittle’s not in any danger _per se_ , but that if he – or Jack – isn't careful, he could be. It happens before certain hockey games too, and any time Bittle is planning to get wasted.

It makes Jack chuckle, slightly, wondering if Shitty is already plying him with drinks.

All day, Jack keeps Bittle in his line of sight. He tries not to focus too long on his tan legs and his short red shorts.

When the concert itself starts, Jack offers Bittle a seat on his shoulders, not trusting anyone else to carry him without dropping him, but Bittle refuses him. He refuses everyone, which is probably better after all. Still, Jack maneuvers himself so that he's next to Bittle, their arms touching from shoulder to elbow thanks to the dense pack of people.

Even though he knows nobody knows they're there, people instinctively give his back a wide berth, leaving space for wings they can't actually see.

***

Jack signs with the Falconers. He takes his last finals. He graduates. The whole time, he feels like either the worst or the luckiest Guardian in the whole world. It’s all backwards. He's not the one taking care of Bittle; Bittle’s the one taking care of him.

It hits him all at once, like a pot bubbling over. He doesn't want to lose Bittle. He doesn't want to run off to the NHL where his only connection to Bittle is protecting him unseen in the background.

It's not enough to be his Guardian. Jack wants to be his _everything_.

He wants to be the one Bittle texts to say good morning and texts to say good night. He wants to be the one who makes his eyes go soft and his smile wide and perfect and full of promise.

Jack has to let Bittle know just how important he has become to him. He wants to get his hands on him, his mouth on him. He wants to be there for him and protect him every day, not just as a Guardian, but as his friend, his teammate, and hopefully... something more.

Saving Eric Bittle saved Jack’s life, but it seems fitting now, because Jack’s life would be bleak and meaningless without Bittle in it.

He rushes past his father and starts running across campus towards the Haus, graduation gown billowing behind him. He can't seem to move fast enough, even with a boost from his fully extended wings.

He's moving so fast he almost crashes into the doorjamb of Bittle’s bedroom. When he looks inside, his stomach drops, a hole forming in his chest as empty as Bittle’s bedroom.

Then he hears the sob.

He's not too late. Jack decides in that moment that he really is the luckiest Guardian in the universe. Ever since Jack said goodbye to Bittle the first time, the tingling feeling has grown and grown until now where it feels like an electric shock rushing through the feathers and down through all his extremities. Bittle is in pain, and Jack caused it. Now though, he hopes to be the one to take his pain away.

He startles Bittle, and one earbud drops from his ear. The “Halo, halo” song plays ever so faintly. Jack moves closer, with a purpose, as Bitty babbles.

“Bitty.”

Jack reaches out and places his hands on Bitty’s shoulders, trying to communicate with his eyes and his hands everything he can't put into words.

Bitty gasps. “Jack, do you have a halo?”

Jack's hand flies to the space above his head, but he can't feel a thing.

“And are those _wings_?”

In response, Jack extends his wings to their full width and splendor. “You can see them?”

“Yes,” Bitty says. “They're _gorgeous_.”

“You're gorgeous,” Jack murmurs reverently, before leaning in and kissing him.

Immediately, the tingling in his wings ceases, but it's instantly replaced with a wonderful squirmy, swooping feeling in his stomach as Bittle kisses him back.

And everything feels right.

***

Years later, Jack goes to sleep one night gently stroking Bitty’s grey hair, admiring his husband’s deep laugh lines and wrinkles earned from a life well lived.

He wakes up in a vast white expanse, dressed in all white with Eric standing beside him.

In the space of a blink of an eye, three winged figures approach.

“It's good to see you again, Jack,” the smallest one says. “Are you two ready to go beyond?”

Jack looks at Bitty and smiles. He takes his hand and squeezes. “Together, we’re ready for anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Twitter [@Chocoholic2_](http://twitter.com/chocoholic2_)! 
> 
> Happy Holidays/Update Week, y'all!


End file.
